


Trade of a Worthy Cause

by InTheShadows



Series: WinterIron Week 2020 Fills [5]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Twins, Arranged Marriage, Bucky Barnes & Winter Soldier are Different Personalities, Don't copy to another site, Hopeful Ending, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Language Barrier, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Slash, Prince Tony Stark, Warlord Bucky Barnes, Warlord Winter Solider, WinterIron Week 2020, and people in this story, warlord au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:53:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28138749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InTheShadows/pseuds/InTheShadows
Summary: Everything will be alright. It will be. Itwill. Now if only Tony believed that. Being sold for peace does not exactly inspire much hope. Especially not if the two people he is being sold to are the Twin Warlords of the North. The White Wolf and the Winter Warrior would rule without mercy and without restraint. Their reputation is a vicious one.So no, Tony does not have much hope for his future. He is a prince, he will do this for the good of his kingdom, but that does not mean he has any unrealistic expectations about his fate. What war prize does?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Tony Stark/Winter Soldier
Series: WinterIron Week 2020 Fills [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066133
Comments: 13
Kudos: 314
Collections: WinterIron Week





	Trade of a Worthy Cause

**Author's Note:**

> For WinterIron Week, Day 3, Angst + Hurt/Comfort  
> One of these days I'm going to get my story posted on the right day. Really.

It will be okay. Everything will be okay. Everything will work out and not end in complete and utter disaster. It  _ will _ . Now if only Tony can convince himself of that. 

If only he was better at believing his own lies. 

That doesn’t mean he allows any of his emotions to show however. Tony is still a prince, no matter what happens. He still has his dignity. He still has his pride. 

So he stands still, back straight and head held high as he is prepared. As he is stripped and washed and decorated. He can hardly call what is being put on him dressed. The majority of it is jewelry - strands of necklaces and bracelets and anklets. Earrings that drag his lobes down with their weight. On his brow, a simple yet still richly decorated circlet. The rest of him is adorned with body paint. 

The only covering he is given is a wrap to tie across his waist. It jingles when bumped, charms swaying gently in the false breeze in the servant’s wake. None of them will look him in the eye as they work. Whether this shows unwillingness on their part or an actual sense of respect he doesn’t know. 

Goosebumps form on his chest as they trace their fingers across his chest. Some of that is from the coolness of the paint, but not all. Still he doesn’t move, not wanting to ruin their work. Can’t have the war prize looking anything less than perfect after all. 

The thought comes out more bitter than he intends. He is a prince. He always knew his fate was to be sold to the highest bidder - for the good of the kingdom of course. There would be no romance for the bards to sing of, for him. He is a pawn for political gain. It is something he had made peace with long ago. 

He never imagined it happening like this however. 

The servants finish and step away with a bow. “Your Highness,” they murmur as they leave, leaving Tony alone with his thoughts. 

The tent is silent except for the noise that comes in from outside of it. It rises and falls as all the other preparations continue. There is a frantic energy to it. An air of desperate scramble to get everything just right. No one wants to cause offense and have the entire thing called off. No one wants to be held responsible for that, not even Tony himself. 

No matter how much he may be dreading this, no matter how reluctant he may be, he will not be the one to mess this up. This  _ is _ for his kingdom, for his people. To keep them safe. He may not be able to rule them anymore, not after this is carried out, but he can still protect them. 

He is a prince. This is his duty. 

The flap of the tent opens and Howard walks in, striding confidently into the space. “Anthony,” he nods, eying him critically. “You will do, I suppose.” 

Tony stays silent. After today, no matter what is in store for him, he will not have to deal with this again. If nothing else, one good thing will come of this.

“We are all counting on you. Do not mess this up.” Like you always do, goes unsaid. 

Still he says nothing. 

“Do you understand me?” Howard growls. 

“Yes Sir,” Tony agrees blandly. 

Howard gives him a firm glare, but doesn’t say anything over his tone. “Come,” he gestures, “everything is ready. It will not due to keep our guests waiting.” He rests a heavy hand on his shoulder. 

It is enough to weigh him down to the ground. He would only be too lucky if it would swallow him whole. That doesn’t happen of course. They walk out of the tent into the bright sunlight. Tony has to squint to allow his eyes to adjust from the relative darkness of the tent. Hardly dignified, but he can’t help it. He keeps his head high and his shoulders straight though. That he can help. 

No weakness. Show no weakness. 

Gods, he’s already messed even that up. Hopefully that is not a sign of things to follow. 

Before him, waiting, is the party of Northerners. At the head is the White Wolf and the Winter Warrior, twin warlords of the North. The twin terror that rules with an iron fist. The constant threat to the Southern lands. 

Tony’s new keepers. 

Husbands would be a better term, but Tony has been reassured that they are heathens. Heathens do not believe in marriage. They take what they want, when they want. Why else would they be looting the good folks of the South? 

Besides, Tony is to be given to  _ both _ of them, not one or the other. That is just another sign of their wildness. Of their barbarism. Only heathens believe in a union of more than two people, of a union that cannot procreate. The Church does not condone such things. The souls of any who engage in such activities are surely damned. 

Funny how they didn’t object when Howard first came to this agreement. Not with their precious monasteries and cathedrals in danger. 

Howard guides Tony so that he is standing in front of them. Both hands are on his shoulders now as if he thinks Tony will bolt. “My son, Crowned Prince Anthony II of the House of Stark.” A translator repeats his words. 

Never has Tony felt so exposed. He is a prince, has been on display his entire life, had the Court and the servants and everyone watching him but never before has he felt like this. Instincts scream at him to hunch down, to hide, to run away. He fights them down. There is no running. Not now. 

Tony has been sold to these warlords to keep his people safe. He will not back down now. He will not go back on his word.  _ For his people _ . 

The twin warlords stare at him intently. Almost hungrily - no. There is no ‘no’ about it. They take in Tony’s body in with frank interest and hungry eyes. To be fair though, perhaps it is the jewels they are looking at. He is covered in a king’s ransom after all. All the better to make him a more attractive prize. These jewels are coming with him. 

These jewels - and nothing else. These are the only things that he owns to his name now. No other clothes, no other trappings, nothing. Everything from this point on depends on his warlords. He is completely at their mercy. The thought sends another shiver down his spine. Everything will be okay. 

He believes it even less now, staring his fate in the eyes. Gods above what has he been condemned to? It is too easy to let his imagination run wild. As a child he had always been scolded for that. Told he should not let such fancies rule him. He never grew out of the habit. Now he wishes that he would have. Maybe he could go through this with much less panic that way. 

A hand shoves him - hard - into waiting arms. Either he missed his cue or someone is impatient to finally get rid of him. He stumbles and strong hands catch him. This close he has to look up to meet their eyes. Suddenly his mouth is very dry. 

One of them - and oh gods, how is he going to tell them apart? Will that even matter? - wrap an arm around Tony and pull him close. That move seems to be the signal because the rest of the Northerners move, preparing to leave. 

That’s it then? It’s done? He risks a look back to his people, but he finds no help there. Howard watches on with an impassive gaze. Others watch too, not as emotionless, but as equally unhelpful. He turns away and examines the Northerners instead. They are a rough lot, battle hard and strong. It is easy to see where people would call them heathens. Barbarians. 

But these are his people now, not those he was raised with. Not as equals, of course, that would be presuming far too much, but he now belongs with them. To them. To his two warlords. He needs to face forward, not back. Behind him is his past, which is useless to him now. 

So he doesn’t. He doesn’t look back once as the Northerners gather and descend onto their ship. He doesn’t look back as they load. He doesn’t look back as they pull anchor and launch. The only way he looks is forward. And if he isn’t truly seeing what is in front of him, that is his business and no one else’s. Best to disconnect now, to prepare himself for what is to come. 

Standing at the bow, he lets the wind whip around him wildly. It makes his teeth clench and his body seize to keep from shivering, but he doesn’t move away. Who knows when he will get this freedom again? He belongs to someone else now. His choices are no longer his own. The reputation of his warlords is not a kind one. There is a reason they are so feared - and it isn’t for their mercy. 

Two bodies come to stand behind him, one on either side. He can hear their breath on the wind. Bracing himself, he waits to be seized. Captured. Bodily handled.  _ Something _ . Nothing comes though. They let him stay there as the ship leaves the bay and begins its sail out to sea. The smell of it is even stronger here. He is half tempted to hold out his arms to feel everything better. To pretend as if he is flying. 

He doesn’t though, because that would be ridiculous. Still he is determined to enjoy himself. He has never been sailing before. He had never been allowed. 

A shiver finally breaks through his resolve, racking through his entire body. The wrap around his waist flutters around, threatening to leave him exposed. That doesn’t mean he is moving. If his warlords aren’t, then he isn’t either. Not yet. The wait gnaws on his nerves like a vicious rat, but he refuses to give in. 

A weight settling on his shoulder startles him. Instinctively he clutches the fur cloak to him, pulling it tightly against himself. What? When he turns one of the warlords is now cloakless, his strong naked chest on display - and what a display - with a smug look on his face. The other is rolling his eyes. 

_ What? _

The smug one carefully takes Tony’s hand and places it on his heart. It beats strong and steady under his hand. “Yasha,” he says in a clear, rough voice. 

“Yasha?” Tony repeats. This would be so much easier with a translator. The one from the ceremony was just that, another trapping of that play, not for anything as helpful as actually letting Tony easily communicate or anything. Tony is on his own for that. And of course he had been given no time to try to learn the language beforehand. 

“Yasha.” He taps his chest with his free hand. 

_ Oh _ . Introductions. Not what he was expecting, but he can go with it. “Tony,” he points to himself with his other hand. He has always hated the name Anthony. If he is leaving everything else behind, this seems like an excellent place to leave that name too. 

The other twin clears his throat to get Tony’s attention before cradling his free hand in his. “Bucky.” He brings Tony’s knuckles to his lips and kisses them softly. 

Now Tony is flushing for a completely different reason. “Bucky,” he repeats. Seems like an odd name to him, but what does he know? Maybe it means something fierce or majestic in their language. 

And now it is Yasha who is rolling his eyes at Bucky. 

What - what is going on here exactly? Is he reading this wrong or is he reading this right? He’s afraid to believe either version. Afraid of the hope. That will crush him, when it’s inevitably broken. 

It’s like that for the rest of the day. Both Bucky and Yasha stay by his side, not directing him, not ordering him or using him, but watching him all the same. They almost seem to be competing against the other, but that can’t be right, can it? Tony was given to both of them to use. Still that is the impression he gets. They are competing for his affection. The only time they leave is when their crew needs them. Even then it is one or the other, not both. 

By time night comes and Tony is firmly wrapped in bed - after sex had been firmly and shockingly denied - between the two, he starts to feel the hope grow. It burns like an ember coming to life no matter how much Tony tries to stop it. To try to reason with it. It is no use - the fire has started. It will either live or die by the actions of his two warlords. 

Maybe this won’t be so bad. They had been - dare he say - soft with him. Nothing like their vicious reputation suggests. Nothing like his worst fears. They seemed determined to take Tony apart in the most gentle way possible. To make him theirs through honey, not force. So maybe this won’t end up destroying Tony completely like he thought. 

_ Maybe _ . 


End file.
